Something In the Way
by SpiritedSadness
Summary: It was his eyes that drew her in.
1. Chapter 1

Violet sat at the bench, back arched and aching from hours spent in the same position. Brow crinkled, eyes closed, all the pent-up energy that had accumulated over the day poured into her fingers as they flew over the keys. Her body swayed back and forth to the rhythm being pulled out of her hands. She was a woman possessed. This was her escape, her release from going through the day making mindless conversation about boys and parties, sitting in class pretending to think about proofs and derivatives, standing at work making coffee and flashing feeble smiles. This was her only time for herself, the only time where she could completely let go and be herself, unaffected by the expectations and obligations of the world outside. It was just her and Chopin, old friends in a dance felt down to the bone.

BRIINNGGG

The shrill ringtone pierced through her reverie as her right hand fumbled and broke the melody, distracted by the outside world once again. Sighing, she pulled her hands away, fingers dragging over her face, feeling antsy to get back to their unresolved dance. She leaned over and grabbed her phone from the top of the old piano, pressed answer and put it to her ear.

"Hello?" She says tiredly into the phone.

"Hey! It's almost 9, I was thinking we could get ready at your place? I really want to borrow your black dress with the lace cut-out in the back. Should I come over now?" It was her friend Molly on the other line, referencing their standing Friday night plans.

"I'm not home yet, but yeah, I can meet you there in like 10," Violet said, stretching her back as she got up and gathered her music in one hand to shove into her backpack.

"Ugh, you're still on campus? I swear to god, Vi, you spend more time in that building than anywhere else," her friend admonished over the line. "But yeah, see you soon."

Greeted with the dial tone, she clicked off her phone, put it into the front pouch of her backpack, and slung it over her shoulder. She left the cramped practice room, clomped down the stairs, and emerged from the Music Building into the misty April evening.

She had the hood of her jacket pulled up and her head bowed against the rain, gaze following her feet as they tracked the familiar path to her apartment. Rain broke through the cracks in the makeshift evergreen roof lone path cutting through the campus, and it drilled down on her head. As she was just about reach the edge of campus and turn onto her street she smacked harshly into a solid mass. The force pushed her backwards and she caught herself from slipping onto the wet concrete. A flutter of white filled the air around her as numerous papers flew into the air and sailed to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, and looked up at what - or, rather, who - she had just crashed into. Her victim was bent over, hurriedly snatching the papers from the rain-soaked walk, so she bent down to help him gather them. She picked up the last paper and flipped it over to see if the rain had done much damage. The water had smudged the charcoal a little, but the drawing of the bird was still visible, it's beak open in a razor sharp call and its wings beating a blur, trapped in perpetual flight. Just as she registered the drawing into her mind, however, it was suddenly ripped out of her hand. Her eyes snapped up.

He hadn't thought to put the hood of his rain jacket up, or hadn't cared, and his blonde hair was plastered to his head. The strands trailed wet lines down his cheeks and there were a few droplets struck in his eyelashes. Lashes framing eyes so dark they were black. And glaring at her. He added her pile of papers it to his, tucking them under his arm quickly, defensively.

"Those are really good," she said earnestly. He didn't reply, but just kept staring right at her with hard black eyes. His mouth was pulled into a frown.

"Uh, well I guess I'll start looking where I'm going now," Violet gave an awkward little laugh, unsure of how to deal with this disconcerting and hostile stranger standing in front of her. She took a few tentative steps backward and started to walk around him. His eyes followed her as she rushed past him and onto the sidewalk of the street that outlined the campus. As her steps took her further and further away from the bizarre encounter, she shook her head, trying to force the flush off her cheeks and clear the image of that intense dark glare out of her mind. Yet as she reached her building and fumbled to fit the key into the door, all she could think about were eyes black as pitch.


	2. Chapter 2

"Babe, come take shots with us!" Molly shouted unnecessarily at her from just a few feet away, easily heard even over the white noise of music and conversation filling the small apartment. Molly's tall body rocked unsteadily and pushed her to brace against the counter. She laughed at the impact, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder to direct her smile at the boy next to her. He had one hand on her waist and the other was pouring vodka into a line of shot glasses.

"No, I'm good with just beer tonight, Mol," Violet responded as she leaned against the refrigerator and took a sip from the bottle in her hand while she watched the scene unfold. An amused smile played at her lips as she watched her friend.

It was the birthday party of one of Molly's coworkers and the apartment was mostly filled with people she didn't know, but Violet could recognize a few faces from around campus or parties she'd been to the last two years. Violet didn't mind. There's a silent security in being anonymous. Molly pushed herself up on her toes to giggle into her new friend's ear and Violet decided it was time to leave the kitchen.

She wandered into the living room and past the crudely set up beer pong table, the cups sitting haphazardly on the uneven surface, shouts coming from the pair of boys on one side. She made her way to the couch and sat down on the far side, away from the people gathered around the hookah. She set her half-empty drink on the ground, leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Her head buzzed pleasantly and the black view behind her eyelids was fuzzy at the edges. She felt the cushion to next to her sink down and a hand tapped her shoulder, drawing her out of her moment of solitude.

"You look a little bored," a voice said, and she opened her eyes to look at her disturber. His glazed eyes were crinkled as he beamed at her, wearing a red flannel and clutching a red cup. "I'm Caleb."

"Violet," she replied, shaking his outstretched hand and smiling back at his contagious grin.

"Who do you know here?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"My friend Molly works with Amanda," Violet replied leaning back against the armrest. They settled into the normal pattern of small talk. He was a biology major who played club lacrosse. He was earnest and friendly, a pleasant companion, but even as she listened to a story about his economics professor her gaze wandered across the people filling the room. And landed on one figure in particular.

He was watching her. He was leaning against the opposite wall, one combat boot clad foot resting flat against it, his other long leg stretched out in front of him. He was wearing black jeans, a black v-neck, and a black military jacket. Unlike everyone else in the room, he wasn't holding a drink. Instead, his hand were free, his arms crossed against his chest. His blonde hair was dry now, and slightly fluffy, hanging around his face. A face that held those eyes. Those shadowy eyes watched her take him in. When she finally met them, they held a glimmer of curiosity mixed with the same strange hostility she sensed before, during their encounter in the rain. Her mouth went dry and she let out a little gasp.

"Everything okay?" Caleb asked, breaking her out of her reverie once again, and taking her attention away from him for just a second.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine," Violet flashed a smile at Caleb and reached down to retrieve her beer. When she glanced up again, he had disappeared. All six foot some inches of him just gone, a couple immersed in sexual banter in his place on the wall. Violet furrowed her brow in confusion. It had only been just seconds since he had been there.

While she was lost in her thought Molly stumbled up to her, dragging the guy from before behind her.

"Violet, we're gonna leave, d'you need us to walk you home?" her friend slurred. Her companion's arms circled around her waist and she leaned back into him, closing her eyes, her flushed face the picture of drunken happiness.

"Nah, that's alright, you two have fun," Violet replied, getting up and brushing her pants off, once again abandoning her drink on the floor. "It was nice to meet you, Caleb." Deciding to leave, she followed her friend towards the door, but not before glancing back at the party. There were still a good amount of people, but she couldn't spot a black jacket or a shaggy blonde head anywhere. Sighing, she let herself out, down the stairs, and into the night.

For the second time in the last six hours, Violet found herself walking home, consumed in thoughts of a strange boy with a piercing stare.

She thought about her mysterious stranger a lot the next week. At work, she found herself searching for a head of blonde curls among those huddled in line, looking for their caffeine fix. At school, she found herself staring out the window, drowning out the voice of the lecturer, wondering what his voice sounded like. Even while she was practicing, instead of the usual release she got, she found herself stumbling over the keys, her mind on the way she felt under his intense gaze. And now, sitting with Molly at the Student Union Building during a break in mid-morning classes, she found him, once again, clouding her thoughts. "I mean, John's cute and all, but he's texted me, like, every hour since we hooked up on Friday," Molly complained, running her fingers through her hair and moaning into her coffee. Violet laughed, distracted for a moment by her friend's dramatics. For as long as she'd known Molly, the girl was always going through boy drama.

They met freshman year at a party in the lounge of their dorm. The party was the type that consisted of ice-breaker games and soda, with people standing awkwardly around, attempting awkward conversation. Violet had been standing in the corner, as usual, listening to the girl who lived down the hall chatter enthusiastically about her plans to join the ultimate frisbee team. She had been smiling and nodding politely, sipping her Sprite and wishing she would be anywhere else. And as if the universe had answered her, a storm of red hair, floral print and leather entered their corner space of tired conversation. Molly had taken one look at the girl, dismissed her without so much as a second glance and said to Violet: "Sick boots. Wanna get outta here and go to a real party? You know one where the drinks have a bite and the games are more of the PG-13 variety?" Violet was taken aback by the girl's forwardness, intrigued by the amount of energy buzzing around her, and impressed by her dress and converse combo. So she said yes.

With that, Violet was sucked into the whirlwind that was the life of Molly Ramos's best friend. They went to a party that night, her first of many, and she drank that night, the first time of many more to come. That day forward, they were inseparable and people most often knew her as Molly's sweet but quiet best friend. Molly was the boy-crazy one, the one who breathed life into failing parties, the one who was never afraid to speak her mind. Violet had always been attracted to her passion for life and her intense loyalty to the things she truly cared about. The things Molly cared about were her little brother, Gabe; good parties, and Violet. So although Violet was the complete opposite of Molly, and spent most of her time making sure her friend didn't decide to drunkenly jump off a building or fail her calculus midterm, her friend would do anything for her, and did. She was the best friend Violet ever had. And besides anything else, the girl was downright entertaining.

"Aw, don't crush the guy's heart, Mol," Violet said, once again scanning the crowd around the cafeteria. "He doesn't know that you're a heartless shrew yet."

"Fuck you," Molly grumbled halfheartedly, a smirk curving her lips as she shoved her friend. "Why do you keep looking around? Is there something I'm missing?"

"What? Oh, no. Just thought I saw someone," Violet said, cheeks turning pink as she took a sip of her latte.

"Ooooh, anyone I know? Is he hot?" Molly said, perking up, comically glancing around.

"No, well I don't know. Remember the weird guy I ran into Friday night?" Violet asked.

"Who, the creep? The one with all the strange drawings who didn't speak?" Molly said, cocking a brow.

"They weren't strange! And I saw him at the party later that night and I - I don't know - I just keep thinking about him, you know? I don't know why he's just…I don't know," Violet sighed out that last part, and propped her chin up in her hand as she gazed across the room again.

"So he _is_ hot. And you _like_ him," Molly teased, poking her in the side. "My little Violet's all grown up with a grown up crush. Who knew all a guy needed to get your attention was to be a creep and just glare at you? I'll have to pass that one on to Gabriel."

"No! I don't like him, I don't even know him. I don't even know his _name._ I'm just.."

"Intruiged?"

"Yes. That's it. Intruiged," Violet nodded. That was it.

"Well I haven't known many people to intrigue you this much, so I'm guessing he's insanely hot," Molly said authoritatively, leaning back in her chair.

"I guess…" Violet said, thinking of that black gaze again. Then she looked at her watch. "Damn. I have rehearsal in ten. Gotta go." She leant down, grabbed her stuff and ruffled Molly's hair.

"Okaay. See ya tonight, right? It's Friday," Molly asked, watching her friend from her relaxed position in the booth.

"Yep, see you then." Violet walked through the cafeteria, out the doors, and made her way down the path that led to the Music Building. She looked up at everyone as she went, searching for that now-familiar face.


	3. Chapter 3

Violet was drunk. Room-tottering, grin-inducing, speech-impairing drunk. She was at a huge party in a house she didn't know, sitting on a lumpy leather couch with people she didn't know, smoking a bowl.

Violet was not the type to get this drunk. That was Molly's role. Her role was to be the calm one, the one who didn't talk much, didn't drink much. At parties she usually had only two or three drinks, with serious breaks for water, and she rarely, if ever, smoked weed. She loathed waking up to a pounding head, a dry mouth, and a roiling stomach. But she was so far gone, the last thing on her mind was the next morning. The only things she was thinking about were the sensations she was feeling: the warm burn of marijuana in her lungs and the heavy weight of a hand on her leg. Molly was no where to be seen; she had left Violet with little more than a pat on the head and a "be good." The was over an hour ago and with that John guy she had been complaining about all week.

She let out a laugh and leaned her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes.

"What's so funny?" the guy attached to the hand asked. She opened her eyes to see him leaning in with a smile, his hand sliding up further on her bare thigh, dangerously close to the edge of the dress Molly had somehow wrangled her into.

"Oh, nothing. Just a joke," she hiccuped, leaning away a bit, crossing one leg over the other, effectively knocking his hand out of her lap.

"Yeah? I like jokes," the guy replied, reaching out to grab her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. She looked at him. He was good-looking, in a scrappy, stoned, always-elated kind of way. His smile crinkled his eyes at the corners. She liked that. He'd told her his name sometime in the past hour, but she could remember it for the life of her. Danny? Derrick? She didn't know. She'd call him D.

"Oops, gotta pee," Violet slurred, getting up from the couch and trying to free her hand. But D held on and got up with her.

"I'll assist you, my lady," he said, mock gallantly and she giggled again. She seemed to be doing that a lot, adding to the permanent smile plastered across her face.

They made their way down the hall and to the door. For the first time that night, there was no line. She dropped D's hand and made to go through the door, knocking into the side as she went. D came up behind her to balance her and just as she was about to express her gratitude, he ushered her in and walked in after her.

"This is the girls bathroom, silly! No boys!" she said laughing wildly, pushing at his thin chest.

"I don't see a sign," D teased, trapping her against the bathroom sink, arms forming a steel cage around her. It wasn't until he started placing sloppy kisses on her neck did she realize what he had planned. "Hey," she squeaked at the wet sensation. She pushed harder, her hands already on his chest, trying to squirm away from him. "Stop, I don't even know you."

"I'm Darrell remember?" he whispered. "And you're Vicky." He pushed her further back into the counter, it's edge digging into her skin. "We're friends." He took both her wrists and held them up roughly against the mirror. "Come on, baby, let's have some fun."

"Get off," she whined, started to feel panicked. He was laying kisses on her immobile lips and snaking his free hand up her shirt. This was getting all too real. All too scary.

Suddenly, the weight was off her, her wrists were free, and she was staring numbly through tears at a whir of black that dragged Darrel out of the bathroom. She sunk to the floor, landing in a pile of limbs. Distantly, she heard the thud of a body hitting a wall.

"Don't fucking touch her, you asshole," she heard a clear, deep voice growl.

"Jesus, we were just KISSING, Tate, chill out," a higher, strained voice replied. He sounded like he was wheezing for air. "She wanted it." There was the telltale sound of fist hitting face.

"When someone tells you to stop, you STOP." Another thud. "Understood?" Something hit the ground and there was the sound of breathe being sucked in and footsteps hurriedly walking down the hall.

Legs entered the bathroom. Violet let out a whimper and clutched her knees to her chest, shrinking away from the newcomer. The dark denim-clad legs bent and suddenly large hands were are her forearms, pushing them away. A face loomed in her vision. HIS face. Black eyes filled with concern scanned her tear-streaked cheeks, swollen eyes and disheveled hair. She let out a gasp.

"Hey, I'm not him, okay?" he stood up and the warm hands on her arms gently pulled her up to a precarious standing position. "Can you walk?"

A fresh round of salty tears rushed to her eyes and she let out a sob, falling forward into his chest. His arms circled around her to keep her up and he let out a sigh. A moment later she was horizontal, one solid arm under her knees and one circling her back. Her face was cradled in leather and warm black cotton. Instinctively, she reached her arms up and around his neck, fingers touched soft, fluffy hair.

As she felt the motion of walking under her, she lifted her head and looked up at him. He was looking straight ahead, ignoring the stares of the party-goers gathered in the living room and made his way for the door. She squinted at him as the cold outside air hit her bare limbs. He held her closer, but she didn't notice the chill. A realization dawned on her.

"Tate," she said, enjoying the way it came out of her mouth, so short and somehow illicit, like a word that her great-aunt Gina would wash her mouth out for uttering. He looked down at her quizzically. A smile split her face and his lips curved up on one side in response, perplexed by her swift change in emotions. "You're name is Tate."

With that, Violet let out a satisfied sigh, and burrowed her face back into its warm leather cocoon.

_Tate._


	4. Chapter 4

The world was spinning.

That was the first thing that Violet became aware of as her mind sluggishly regained consciousness. The next thing she could ascertain was that the side of her face was pressed against fabric that felt like a soft, well-worn t-shirt. It smelled like firewood and Tide. The scent was familiar, but she couldn't place it. This bed was not her own, this old t-shirt was not the paper thin sheet that lined her pillow and she was definitely not wearing her usual flannel pajamas. She definitely was not safe and sound in her snug studio apartment.

Taking a deep breath, she willed herself not to panic. Slowly, she opened her eyes, relieved to find out that her surroundings were not brightly lit. In fact, the room she was in was dark and warm, little light coming out of the window on the opposite wall. The small window was high up on the wall, giving the sense that Violet was in some sort of basement. Sitting up, she saw that she was dressed in an old t-shirt for a Boys and Girls Club and guy's basketball shorts. She was in a full-sized bed with dark grey cotton sheets that did feel like an old t-shirt and a black comforter. Band posters covered the walls and on the desk in the corner there was a stack of papers and a charcoal kit. There were two closed doors and the only things littering the otherwise tidy room were her dress and jacket from last night, both neatly folded by the foot of the bed, and her boots by the door.

The last thing Violet coherently remembered was Molly leaving her on the couch with one of her friends from wind ensemble. She started to panic. She was obviously in a boys room and had been very drunk last night if she didn't remember anything after that. What had happened last night? She tried to press her memory, but the only thing her hungover mind could produce was getting kissed in a bathroom, severe panic, and the name Tate. That name kept ringing in her ears. Who was Tate? The guy that kissed her? She couldn't even remember what he looked like. Was this his room? Well, she couldn't have done anything that bad if she didn't wake up next to anyone and was wearing his clothes. Oh god, did she pass out in the middle of something?

Realizing that she wasn't going to get any answers from her pounding head, she gingerly got up out of the bed and changed back into her outfit from last night. Feeling grateful to whoever had put her to bed so nicely, she made it. Then she folded the loaned clothes and set them on the pillow. Grabbing her boots, she decided to brave one of the doors. She held her breath and closed her eyes. She twisted the knob as quietly as she could and opened the door.

Opening her eyes, she came face to face with a closet full of black. Black pants folded neatly over their hangers, black sweaters and jackets hanging crisply on their hangers, black t-shirts folded on the top shelf, and black boots, vans and sneakers lined on the floor. There were some other colors, like navy blue and gray, but the majority was black. Violet reckoned that she had never seen so much black in her life. She closed the door.

She felt a little less nervous opening the next door and when she did, she made her way into a short hallway and into small room with a fireplace and a couch. Lying on that couch was the answer to the questions that were previously running through her mind.

He was asleep, his face holding the deceiving innocence of a mischievous boy at rest. He had one hand resting on his chest and she watched for a moment as it drifted up and down with his breath. The mint green blanket was tangled around his sweatpants-clad legs, his feet hanging off the side of the couch that he was too tall for. He was beautiful in sleep. She took the opportunity to examine him closely without being detected. His eyes were closed, blonde wisps of hair spread out on the pillow. His nose was long and straight, pointing down to lips a shocking color of red against pale skin.

She had a sudden flashback of looking up into that face to the sway of someone's stride, and it dawned on her that he must have carried her home. And changed her out of her dress. And let her sleep in his bed when he stuck with the couch. Oh god.

She decided she didn't want to stay long enough to have to face the embarrassing interaction with the boy she had been thinking about - no, obsessing about - for the last week. No, she was definitely not in the right state of mind for that right now. She'd rather be in her apartment and obsess about him while she wasn't in his home, watching him sleep. She tiptoed to the door. She was going to have to do the walk of shame for the first time ever and she didn't even know the guy's name, for god's sake.

Just as she was twisting the knob of the door even more cautiously that she had his closet, a cough sounded from the direction of the couch. She whipped her head around. His eyes were open and alert and watching her with the intensity that she recognized. She stood frozen for a long moment as they looked at each other in some sick sort of staring contest. She was never good at those, so it wasn't surprising to her that she was the first to blink. She tried to figure out the best way to deal with this situation.

"Uh, thanks for, uh, letting me crash here, you didn't have to do that. I mean, sorry you had to deal with drunk me. I usually don't drink that much and I guess my friend left me and um, yeah. Thank you," Violet nervously rambled, eyes frantically looking anywhere in the room but back at him. "Oh, and for carrying me. That couldn't have been easy, you know, because I'm not really that light. I'm not saying I think I'm large, but, um, I only meant that you must be pretty strong, or something." Oh, dear god. How did she get on the subject of body-image issues and his strength? Her gazed darted to his arms. They were pretty toned, definitely arms that could carry drunk girls home, to their bedroom, maybe even for things other than sleeping…

_Focus, Violet!_ she thought, _stop thinking about his arms and find a way to get _out _of here._ She met his gaze. His eyes held the same unreadable expression she had first seen in that path in the rain. She was just about to turn around and run out the door in mortification when he interrupted her.

"I would have taken you home, but you were out before you could tell me where you lived." He had a clear, deep voice. She watched him sit up and run his fingers through his hair.

"Oh, that's fine, ha, um, your bed's really comfy. Sorry for stealing it, you really didn't have to sleep on the couch."

"It's fine, I don't mind," he squinted at her tiredly. "You're okay, though? You were pretty shaken up last night."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine, nothing to worry about." God, she was being a babbling idiot. "Well, I'm Violet by the way," she offered, ready to leave now that the conversation seemed as though it was probably going to go nowhere.

"Well, Violet, I'd introduce myself but I think we've already been over that," he said, a little smirk pulling at his mouth as he sat with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. The sound of his voice saying her name gave her a little shiver and brought a flush creeping up her neck.

"Oh, you're Tate?" she asked. "For some reason that name has been like on repeat in my brain this morning." She let out an awkward little laugh.

"Yeah, it was on repeat last night too," he said, full on smirking at her now. "My name is the only thing I could get out of you last night."

Violet didn't know what to say to that. She was full on blushing now and she was sure her skin was the exact same color as Molly's hair.

"Oh," was what she settled on, staring solidly at the carpeted floor.

"Fuck, it's only eight. Do you want something to eat, or drink?" He asked, standing up and scratching his stomach.

"Um, no, that's okay. I have work in an hour, so I should probably get going," she said, scuffing her bare foot against the floor.

"Okay. Where do you work?" he questioned, walking over to her.

"Cafe Legato? It's on Brooklyn and 56th," she answered and wondered why he was approaching her.

"Oh yeah, I know that one. Good chai," he said, stopping in front of her and examining her from her messy hair all the way down to her bare toes. "You gonna leave without putting your shoes on?" He asked, smirking again as he looked down at her.

"Oh!" She lent down and shoved her boots on her feet and smiled up at him, uncomfortable at the scrutiny. She brushed a stray lock out of her eyes.

He reached around her and turned the knob and opened the door, holding her gaze the entire time. She backed away from his increasing closeness.

"Bye, Violet." He leaned against the doorframe and looked down to her. The smirk was gone and that unreadable expression was back on his face. "Don't get into any trouble."

That intense gaze still startled her, no matter how many times now she'd received it.

"I won't," she reassured him. "Goodbye, Tate."


End file.
